


A surprise vacation to...Mycroft's...

by lady_slice



Series: Memoirs from a Good Doctor [3]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Light Angst, Love, M/M, Victorian Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23806654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_slice/pseuds/lady_slice
Summary: "I don’t know which is worse…having to solve a murder while on vacation or visiting Mycroft for a long-needed vacation…and of course, considering my luck, I was entangled in both..."Sherlock and John solve a murder while vacationing at Mycroft’s estate. As the events unfold and the remaining guests quarrel, there ends up being much more to the case than meets the eye.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Memoirs from a Good Doctor [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1640503
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

_April 9, 1891,_

_I don’t know which is worse…having to solve a murder while on vacation or visiting Mycroft for a long-needed vacation…and of course, considering my luck, I was entangled in both. However, I don’t take issue with Holmes’ older brother, quite the contrary; he appears to take issue with me…Holmes seems to believe that the two of us will eventually come to our senses and coexist peacefully as a family, yet I fail to see the light at the end of this proverbial tunnel…_

_In addition, Holmes and I rarely get a vacation to ourselves, and when the opportunity finally presented itself, we were embroiled in case involving some eccentric associates of Mycroft’s and the murder of a member of parliament. Holmes, per usual, reasoned out the case remarkably, however, that still failed to make up for such a boisterous weekend at Mycroft’s…_

* * *

“Watson, are you able to get some time off for this upcoming long weekend?”

Sherlock had emerged from their bedroom, later than usual for a typical weekday. John was sitting at their breakfast table reading through his medical notes. Sherlock walked over to pet Gladstone, who was sleeping next to the fireplace.

“I plan to. Why?” John asked, squinting his eyes at Sherlock who took his time approaching the table.

Sherlock shrugged. “I think you and I are in need of a vacation. The countryside perhaps?”

John relaxed his face, but he continued to study Sherlock with suspicion; he knew there was a possibility his companion might using the prospect of a much-needed respite as an accuse to chase a case.

“Save the mental gymnastics, dear,” Sherlock waved his hand around, “it’s a genuine request.”

John leaned backward in his chair, now struggling to hide his amazement. “Really? Okay, then. That _actually_ sounds promising.”

Sherlock huffed, stopping short of the breakfast table. John looked at him curiously before smiling, returning to his work.

“Stop feigning offense and join me. Also, please eat something.” John said, never taking his eyes of his notes.

Sherlock shrugged as if he didn’t know what John was referring to before taking a seat at the table.

John looked up from his notes. “I only care about your wellbeing.” He added with a grin. He then rose from his chair to fetch Sherlock a cup of tea.

Sherlock found some of his wayward case notes scattered about the table and the floor. He made a noise as John handed him his cup.

“What?” John asked as he stood over Sherlock.

Sherlock looked up at John before returning to his notes. “Nothing. Just that…” He leaned backward in his chair, posing thoughtfully.

John raised an eyebrow before slowly returning to his seat. “What is it?”

Sherlock interlaced his fingers together on top the table. “That thwarted terrorist plot…” He answered, his voice trailing.

John, annoyed with himself that he had taken the bait, sighed as he rolled his eyes. “What about it, Holmes?”

Sherlock stared at John before slapping his knee. “Something about it doesn’t seem clear…”

“Well perhaps they need you on the case.” John responded as he watched Sherlock return to his notes.

Sherlock laughed loudly. “No, I’m taking the weekend off, remember Watson?"

John chuckled half-heartily as he took the moment to observe Sherlock reading his notes before returning to his own.

* * *

_The aforementioned weekend…_

John stared at the shear amount of items Sherlock had brought out with him to attach to their automobile.

“I highly doubt wherever we’re going, you’ll need your traveling archive—whatever the devil that could be.” John was aghast.

Sherlock shrugged as he pointed to a portmanteau for John to haul. “Really, Watson. Sometimes I feel like you forget who I am. I _never_ leave without my traveling archive.”

John groaned as he lifted the portmanteau into the automobile. “No, I shall never forget that you’re both stubborn _and_ excessive.”

Suddenly, John yelped as he felt a light pinch on his back. “Good. Glad my work here is done.” Sherlock said through a sneer as he climbed into the automobile.

“Come on, dear! We don’t want to lose daylight!” Sherlock shouted from inside as John finished packing the items.

John sighed, reminding himself that they were going to have some time to relax. He strapped in the last suitcase before climbing into the automobile in the driver’s seat.

“So,” John began as their engine sputtered with the ignition, “where in the country are we staying? An inn, perhaps?”

Sherlock shrugged. “No, not an inn.”

John glanced at Sherlock before looking ahead. “Okay, a chalet of some sort then?”

Sherlock shook his head “no”. “No, not a chalet.”

John took a moment before trying again, confused as to why his companion was being elusive about their vacation plans.

“Where then, Holmes?”

Sherlock kept his eyes on the road. “An estate.”

John mouthed the word “estate”, mentally trying to connect the pieces. “An estate in the countryside…”

Then, as it all became clear as his companion sat in total silence, refusing to elaborate, John seethed.

“An estate in the countryside? Holmes!”

“I really don’t understand why visiting my brother—”

John let out a loud groan.

“—brings you so much torment.” Sherlock finished in a huff.

John took a sharp turn that bounced Sherlock around in his seat. “Holmes, I would appreciate it in the future if you would tell me that I would end up spending a long, much-needed vacation with your brother. You know Mycroft’s feelings towards me.”

Sherlock sighed loudly as he resettled. “Watson, please. You mustn’t take Mycroft seriously.”

John let out a laden sigh, indicating that not only was he not pleased with the tone of the conversation, but over it as well. After a moment or so of silence, Sherlock began to rattle on about one of his findings as John mentally prepared himself for a weekend at Mycroft’s.

Later in the afternoon as light rain began to fall, they finally reached the estate, being greeted immediately outside by an overly joyous Mycroft who was accompanied by his valet, Stanley.

“Sherly!” Mycroft shouted with delight as soon as John stopped their automobile in front of the mansion.

Sherlock patted John on the shoulder before exiting. He tried to hold his arms out for Mycroft, but the other had grabbed him too tightly.

“My dear brother!” Mycroft shouted as he nearly picked Sherlock up off the ground.

“Mycroft.” Sherlock managed to squeak out as he struggled to free himself from his brother’s grasp.

John lingered in the automobile, debating whether he should just drive off and cut his losses. Stanley took his time approaching, bowing slowly as soon as he reached John.

John rolled his eyes as he hopped out of the driver’s seat. “For god’s sake, Stanley. The queen hasn’t arrived.”

Stanley barely responded as he proceeded to extricate John and Sherlock’s luggage from their automobile. John straightened himself out from the long drive before shooing Stanley away; he felt awkward being waited on as such.

“Dr. Watson!” John’s back was met with the heartiest slap which nearly doubled him over.

John recovered before toppling over, turning around to face Mycroft who was grinning unnervingly at him.

“Mycroft.” John muttered as he straightened out his jacket once more before reaching for Sherlock’s traveling archive.

“How was your drive? You must be tired, but I know that the Doctor most likely spirited you here in half the time!” Mycroft’s smile had turned into a sneer as he watched Sherlock and John unmount their luggage from their automobile.

John groused to himself, knowing full well that Mycroft was making a snide comment about his driving. Sherlock looked at him before mimicking a laugh to placate his brother.

“I assure you, Mycroft, the Doctor’s driving is _nothing_ compared to yours.” He ultimately countered which John was grateful for.

Mycroft chuckled loudly before motioning for them to follow him inside. John and Sherlock dragged their luggage through the front door as Mycroft continued to chat mostly to himself.

“I think you’ll be in for quite the surprise. I managed to get a few close friends of mine over for the weekend as well.” Mycroft had stopped them in front of a grand staircase.

John dropped the portmanteau he was carrying. He glared at Mycroft. “A few close friends?”

John then redirected his frustration toward Sherlock who looked just as surprised. “Holmes, did you hear?,” he began, “‘A few close friends’ for this much-needed, _long_ weekend.”

Sherlock laughed quietly as he placed a hand on John’s shoulder. “Nothing we can’t handle.” He looked sweetly at John who only groaned.

Mycroft ignored them as he continued. “We have the delightful pleasure to be joined by Bridget Persephone Coventry,” he beckoned for John and Sherlock to follow him up the staircase.

“…you’ll know Ms. Coventry from the stage.” Mycroft added with a grin.

“Also,” he continued as they turned at the landing down a hallway, “a couple of my associates will be in attendance for dinner.”

John rolled his eyes at the word “associates” as he fumbled behind Sherlock and Mycroft with most of their luggage.

“Viktor Fedorov and William Davenport. William’s family owns a railroad company in America. Fedorov…” Mycroft stopped suddenly to pose thoughtfully, “well, actually, I’m not entirely sure _what_ Fedorov does.” This seemed to amuse him the most as he continued to guide John and Sherlock to a room.

“And Mahmud Han bin Mecid. He’s a diplomat from the Ottoman Empire. A little _too_ serious, yet a kind fellow, I might add.”

Mycroft stopped in front of a room at the end of the hallway. “And finally, you’ll both have the pleasure in meeting Nigel Standish.” Mycroft concluded with the widest grin.

“Nigel Standish?” Sherlock repeated; his astonishment quite evident.

Mycroft leered at Sherlock before he relaxed his face. “Yes, dear brother. You must be aware of his dealings in parliament.”

Sherlock nodded; a grin slowly overtook his expression. “Oh, I am _more_ than aware.”

John looked back and forth between the two, confused by the sudden shift in tone.

Mycroft’s expression remained unsettling until he pointed to the bedroom door next to him.

“You may take this room, dear brother.”

Sherlock nodded, and John let out a terribly depleted-sounding exhale as he picked up their suitcases, but he was stopped by Mycroft’s outstretched arm.

“Dear Dr. Watson, your room is on the _first_ floor.”

John looked at Sherlock before looking back at Mycroft, baffled as to why Mycroft had not only separated him and Sherlock, but put him in one of the least nice rooms on the first floor after having dragged their suitcases upstairs.

As the atmosphere between the three grew awkward and tense, Mycroft laughed; his whole body shook with merriment.

“I kid!” He slapped John hard on the back, “ _of course_ I put you and Sherly in the same room! The nicest one also.”

John grimaced at Mycroft as the latter nearly shoved him into the room. “Only the best for family.”

Sherlock and John bumbled into the room with their suitcases. Mycroft lingered near the door.

“Dinner should be served soon, so take your time.”

He clapped his hands together before disappearing down the hallway.

“A whole weekend of that. Just my luck.” John said with a groan as he sat on the edge of the bed.

Sherlock shed his waistcoat. “It was only a joke, albeit not very funny, but only a joke nonetheless.”

John sighed as he stretched his body on top the bed, watching Sherlock change into some fresh clothes.

“Never thought I would get to meet a member of parliament. Good to know that Mycroft’s connections aren’t entirely hogwash.” John let out as he crossed his arms behind his head, closing his eyes.

“Yes…” Sherlock answered slowly, “Nigel Standish’s presence this weekend is _quite_ intriguing.”

John groaned. “Are you never off the clock, Holmes? Please relax this weekend. I assure you nothing sinister is occurring underneath the surface.”

Sherlock huffed as he sat on the edge of the bed. John turned over onto his side. “Although we’ve been imprisoned on your brother’s estate, at least we’ll get some privacy in this overly grandiose place.” John waved a hand around.

Sherlock nodded, but it was clear that he was still ruminating over the presence of the member of parliament. Eventually, John figured it was no use to try to get his companion to relax.

“I’m going to look through my notes until dinner.” Sherlock sprang from the bed toward his traveling archive.

John sighed again. “Well, _I’m_ going to get a few minutes of rest before dinner.”

Sherlock continued to rifle through his notes as John dozed off on the bed. Not too long after, the service bell rang, calling the house guests for dinner.

* * *

_At dinner…_

The guests had gathered around a grand dining-room table. John was sitting next to Sherlock who sat next to Mycroft. The rest of the guests had filled the rest of the spaces available. The dining-room table was big enough for at least twenty people, but Mycroft had Stanley reposition a few chairs for his small party.

“Well!” An overly dressed man wearing a perpetual smug expression on his face sitting directly across the table from Mycroft clapped his hands together, “that was quite the meal, Mycroft!”

Mycroft nodded as he motioned with his wine glass toward the man. “Why, thank you, William.”

“Mr. Holmes.” A smartly dressed woman whose carefully posh English accent gave away years of elocution lessons addressed Sherlock with a curt nod.

“I’ve been meaning to confess that I am quite the fan of your detective work. A colleague of mine has been following your exploits to do research on a detective character for an upcoming play.”

Sherlock nodded with a slight smile. “Ms. Coventry. I appreciate the flattery, although what I do is purely simple.”

John coughed a few times before sitting backward in his chair with his arms crossed, yet Sherlock only acknowledged him with a smile.

“ _And_ my companion here has been most helpful in my exploits.” Sherlock added, still smiling which eventually managed to settle a very annoyed-looking John.

A man wearing something resembling a military uniform sitting next to Bridget fidgeted as he reached for his wine glass.

“Yes, Mr. Holmes is known even far away in the east.”

Mycroft chuckled. “Indeed, Mamhud. I hear of Sherlock Holmes _everywhere_.” He offered, waving his arms about, the tone is his voice verging on the side of mystic. “The chaps at the Diogenes mention him frequently.”

Another man sitting at the end of the table laughed enthusiastically, so much so that it nearly disturbed everyone else.

“I think we should all sleep well at night knowing that the _great_ Sherlock Holmes has graced us with his presence this weekend.”

And it had become clear, by the end of the man’s statement, that the joviality in the room had dissipated. Yet, Sherlock only nodded at the man at the end.

“I must say, I think I am more in awe of your presence, Mr. Standish.”

Standish laughed once more before slapping the shoulder of the man sitting next to him. “An admirer! Don’t have many of those nowadays.”

The man next to Standish grumbled before disengaging himself. “That would be an overstatement saying you had any to begin with, Standish.” He said, his voice stern and his expression harsh.

Standish stared at the man before bursting out into another fit of laughter. “Fedorov here, is such the jester. You wouldn’t know it from his rough, _acerbic_ exterior.” Standish had leaned too much into Fedorov’s personal space.

Everyone else around the table, except for Sherlock, John, and Mycroft, looked extremely uncomfortable. William coughed a few times before twirling the stem of his wine glass; Bridget shifted in her chair to look away from Standish; Mamhud glared in his direction; and Fedorov took a huge gulp out of his wine glass before burping loudly.

“Well,” Mycroft began as it became clear that the atmosphere in the room had taken a dark turn, “perhaps we should retire to the sitting room for some coffee and cake?”

After a moment of awkward silence, the group reshuffled to congregate in the adjoining sitting room. Sherlock huddled near John at the fireplace. John was trying to have a conversation with him, but it was clear that Sherlock’s attention was elsewhere.

John stopped as he followed Sherlock’s gaze, landing on Standish speaking to Fedorov in what appeared to be a lively debate. At one point, Bridget’s maid, Clara, passed the men; she looked uncomfortable doing so. John watched Standish say something that caused Clara to flush, looking quite embarrassed, before she quickly approached Bridget before leaving the room. A folded scrap of paper fell out of her pocket, but John immediately dismissed it.

 _That man is a brute…_ John thought to himself.

After listening to Standish retell a run-in with a colleague of his who had drawn his wrath for not supporting a particular policy, the group slowly dispersed for the night.

* * *

John groaned loudly as soon as the door to their room closed. “Finally, some much-needed privacy.”

He continued to grumble as he walked to the other side of the room where their luggage was stored. Sherlock followed him before perching himself against a window sill, watching John rummaged through their luggage. Heavy rain fall from outside could be heard audibly in their room.

“Watson,” Sherlock began as John found a clean shirt to change into, “I wanted to apologize for not being transparent with you earlier…”

John took his time sitting down on the edge of the bed; his expression softened as soon as he realized that Sherlock was being sincere.

“…you and Mycroft are my only family…” Sherlock ended quietly, almost to a full whisper.

John stared intently at Sherlock before rising from the bed, taking his time walking toward his companion.

“…I understand…and I apologize for being such a grump earlier…” As soon as he reached Sherlock, he rubbed his arms, “part of my frustration is not being able to get a nice quiet moment between the two of us that doesn’t involve work…”

Sherlock nodded slowly as he looked upward at John. “Well, we have some time to ourselves now, that’s if you’re not too tired from the night’s proceedings…”

John grinned before he leaned downward to kiss Sherlock. “I love you…” He whispered.

“I love you, too…” Sherlock answered. They stayed like this before John maneuvered them to the bed, gently pushing Sherlock onto his back before lying on top of him. They continued to kiss one another, letting their hands travel against the other.

“John…” Sherlock breathed as John squeezed his body.

John smiled, however as he pushed downward into Sherlock’s body, a loud crash interrupted the moment.

Both John and Sherlock stopped abruptly. “What was that?” John looked at Sherlock before training his eyes toward the floor of the bedroom.

Sherlock shook his head. “I’m not su—”

But before he could finish his reply, the crash was followed by a loud thump. Both Sherlock and John looked at the other once more before jumping off the bed; Sherlock ran quickly out of the room.

“Where are you going?” John half-whispered, managing to catch up to his companion, grabbing Sherlock by the arm before he could get further down the hallway.

“To investigate the cause of that raucous.” Sherlock grimaced at John before brushing his hand away.

John raced past Sherlock, cutting him off in the middle of the hallway. “For god’s sake, Holmes. We’re on vacation. Something probably fell in the kitchen.”

Right at this moment there was a terrifying scream coming from below. No longer wasting time, both John and Sherlock rushed toward the source of the screaming. They ran down the staircase, hearing the scream grow louder, recognizing that it was coming from the dining room.

Sherlock and John looked at one another simultaneously before running toward the room.

“What in the devil is going on?” William had appeared at the top of the staircase. Not too far behind him was Fedorov and Mamhud.

As the men descended the staircase, Mycroft appeared at the top of the landing, scrambling to put his robe on.

“Stanley! Stanley! For god’s sake, what is that terrible shrill?”

Sherlock and John ran into the dining room: there they found Standish on his back on the floor in a pool of blood and Bridget screaming in the corner. A pile of broken dishes was next to the body along with a fallen stand holding a bust of Heracles. John ran to Bridget to console her as Sherlock rushed to the body. He knelt on one knee, looking quickly around the body, checking vital signs. The rest of the guests including Mycroft appeared in the room.

“Lady and Gentlemen,” Sherlock began as he straightened up to address the rest of the group behind him, “it appears we have a murderer in our midst.”

Still holding onto Bridget, John let out the most dramatic groan. “Holmes!” He began through shear exasperation and disregard for the situation, “this was supposed to be a vacation!”


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock scrunched up his face at John. “I’m not the one who committed the murder, Watson. Direct your ire toward the guilty party.” He indicated everyone else.

“I had absolutely nothing to do with this!” William exclaimed.

“To be accused of such treachery, my goodness, Mr. Holmes!” Bridget added angrily, through a fit of tears.

“I would never be associated with such an evil act.” Mahmud jumped in.

Sherlock crossed his arms. “I never said _who_. Just that the murderer is among us.”

Everyone continued to grumble and complain until all the voices hushed. The group directed their attention toward Fedorov who had yet to chime in.

“Well,” William started, pointing defiantly at Fedorov, “don’t _you_ have anything to say?”

Fedorov scoffed before producing a cigar from his back pocket. “If I were planning to murder someone,” he bit the end of his cigar before lighting it, “you would never find the body…”

Bridget gasped with horror, and Mycroft burst through the group to calm everyone down.

“All right, I think we’ve had enough excitement for the night, haven’t we?” He said with an annoying grin.

Sherlock grabbed his brother’s arm. “Mycroft, I’ll need this room cleared to investigate the body. Please have everyone else wait to be interrogated later.”

Mycroft blinked a few times as if he hadn’t understood Sherlock. “But—what?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he pointed to Standish’s body. “Mycroft, as you can see, there has been a murder. Please have everyone wait in the solarium.” He then turned to address the group.

“I’ll speak to each of you individually.”

“But what’s your alibi, Mr. Holmes?” William interjected as he crossed his arms, “ _seems_ ridiculous to me for all of us to put our trust in you based on hearsay. Even the great Sherlock Holmes must have the passion to commit murder.”

Sherlock barely acknowledged the accusation as he motioned toward John. “Well, I was with the good doctor when we heard the commotion."

John shrugged without replying affirmatively. Sherlock expressed shock before his face relaxed.

“Dr. Watson, tell them I was with you when we retired for the evening.”

John shrugged again as he looked around the room, appearing to not know what Sherlock was referring to.

“John.” Sherlock had turned his body to face John more directly.

“Unfortunately, I _was_ with Holmes after dinner.” John let out as he crossed his arms, clearly frustrated that he was now in the throes of solving a murder instead of getting a good night’s rest.

Sherlock squinted his eyes at his companion before facing the group once more. “See, there you have it. Now, Mycroft, please.” He motioned for his brother to herd the guests into the solarium.

Through a series of more complaints, Mycroft had Stanley usher the remaining guests toward the solarium. John and Sherlock were left alone in the dining room.

“Watson—”

John waved Sherlock off before entering the sitting room. “Holmes, please. I’m not in the mood.”

Sherlock took his time following John. “You _really_ think I would like to be solving a murder right now?”

John turned around before finding a chair to sit in. He nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t think you’re entirely opposed to it, so yes.”

Before Sherlock could counter, Mycroft appeared behind them. “So sorry to interrupt, but, dear brother, who would you like to interrogate first?” His expression could barely contain his excitement with the situation.

Sherlock watched John before turning around to address Mycroft. “Please send in Ms. Coventry.”

Mycroft nodded with glee. “Right away!” He answered before scurrying away.

Sherlock turned around again to sit next to John. “Watson,” he started in a low voice, “I promise to make this up to you. But first, let us figure this out together.”

John looked over at Sherlock; his expression softened as it became clear that his companion was once again sincere about the situation they had found themselves in.

John groaned. “You don’t have to make it up…and, you don’t need my help…you could probably figure this out blindfolded…”

Sherlock shook his head as he reached out a hand to rub John’s leg. “Not entirely. You’re more useful than you think.” He ended with a kind smile.

John nodded with his own smile as he placed a hand on Sherlock’s. They only waited a second longer before Bridget appeared. Sherlock motioned for her to take a seat.

“Now, Ms. Coventry,” he began, “pray tell us where you were before you found Standish.”

Bridget choked on sob before answering. “I was in my room. Clara will be able to tell you.”

Sherlock nodded. “And Clara was with you the entire time?”

Bridget conveyed clear offense. “Why, yes, Mr. Holmes! I came downstairs to retrieve my scarf that I had left on my chair after dinner…I heard a crash whilst descending the stairs and then another…that’s when I found that vile man.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you, Ms. Coventry. Only asking to establish everyone’s whereabouts.” He took a moment, “and your maid, Clara, she was with you the _entire_ time after dinner?”

Bridget appeared to be confused by the question, but then she nodded. “Yes, well…actually…she came with me to my room after dinner before leaving for a bit before I realized that my scarf was missing…”

Sherlock nodded thoughtfully as he leaned forward. “You referred to Standish as a ‘vile’ man. Could you please explain your acquaintance with him?”

Bridget scoffed. “Acquaintance? There was none to speak of, Mr. Holmes. Nigel Standish is an enemy of the arts. He threatened to close my theatre company in order to draw funds from the investors. I was actually surprised to find out that your brother ran in such circles.”

Sherlock grinned as he leaned backward in his chair. “Mycroft keeps peculiar company, but I assure you he is only a fan of yours.”

Bridget nodded slowly before shuffling around.

“Could you please send in Mr. Han bin Mecid?” Sherlock asked quietly.

Bridget nodded once more before rising quickly from her seat. Sherlock turned to John as soon as they were left alone.

“So, what do you make of it?” Sherlock whispered.

John considered the statement. “I believe her.”

Sherlock nodded. “I do as well, but something is still amiss…”

Soon after, Mamhud appeared. He looked around the room before taking a seat in front of Sherlock and John.

“Mr. Holmes.” He greeted quietly.

“Your excellency.” Sherlock returned with a genuine smile, “pray tell us where you were before we found Standish.”

Mamhud nodded slowly, looking downward and away. “I was in my room, but I had nothing to do with the murder.”

Sherlock sighed as he leaned forward. “I understand why you would want to protest your innocence; however, I must ask everyone involved the same questions.”

Mamhud looked upward at Sherlock; his expression was harsh. “Of course…”

“Now,” Sherlock interlaced his hands together, “what was your relationship like with Standish? You must have known him through working in the government.”

Mamhud sighed deeply. “Yes, but he was no friend. Quite the opposite…”

Sherlock motioned for him to continue.

“…Standish was involved with a German railroad company that runs business with my country…he…swore to protect Ottoman interests, but ultimately deflected…now the Germans have a monopoly which is threatening the economic stability of the empire…”

Sherlock’s expression softened as he listened. “I can only imagine the peril, your excellency.”

Mamhud stared directly at John and Sherlock. “May I go? I have nothing else to say.”

Sherlock leaned back in his chair. “Of course, however, can you tell us anything else about what happened between dinner and when we discovered the body?”

Mamhud clinched his jaw as he sat up even straighter in his chair. “Well, after I heard the crashes…I saw Mr. Davenport come out of his room…then I heard Ms. Coventry…and I think I remember seeing Standish speaking with Ms. Coventry’s maid before retreating upstairs…but besides that, nothing else.”

John looked over at Sherlock who now had a slight grin on his face. “Why, thank you for that bit of information. Could you please send in Mr. Davenport?”

Mamhud nodded before slowly rising from his chair before exiting the room.

“I don’t think our diplomat is guilty.” John offered once they were alone again.

Sherlock nodded. “I agree, dear. But he managed to give us another clue to this mystery.”

John stared at Sherlock, trying to piece together what the diplomat might have given before William appeared in the room. He looked extremely annoyed.

“Well, get on with it, Mr. Holmes.” He said in a huff as he plopped down in the chair.

Sherlock crossed his legs before beginning. “Could you please tell us about your whereabouts before we found Standish?”

William rolled his eyes. “I was in my room. Nearly had a heart attack at the sound of those dishes and statue clattering around. I ran out into the hallway before I heard Ms. Coventry shrieking like a ghoul. I also saw Mr. ‘Han ben Mezid’ run out of his room.” He finished, severely mispronouncing Mamhud’s name.

Sherlock nodded. “And?”

Willaim scoffed. “Look, I had nothing to do with this. Standish was a horrible person, but I wouldn’t kill him.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened by the unprovoked assertion. “Did you have an unfortunate relationship with Mr. Standish?”

William sighed. “Who hasn’t? He’s known for coddling corporations for his own benefit. My father had done business with him in the past, but I cut that off immediately after he died. However, in retaliation, Standish invested in some of my company’s competitors. My company suffered tremendously…”

“Yes, it is definitely a difficult time to be part of the working class…” Sherlock added softly.

William appeared to take some offense to Sherlock’s comment, but then he waved it off. He brushed some imaginary dirt off his night robe.

“Is there anything else? You know, you should really look into that Fedorov fellow. Something about him doesn’t sit well with me…” William concluded.

Sherlock nodded before rising from his chair. He motioned for William to follow him to the exit. “Thank you for the suggestion. Will you send him in please?” He answered disingenuously which seemed to go right over William’s head.

William grumbled something about not getting enough sleep before leaving. Sherlock turned around to face John.

“We’ll talk to Mr. Fedorov then we’ll look for that murder weapon.”

John nodded as he watched Sherlock rejoin him. “Something about that Fedorov character bothers me, too. Holmes.”

“Of course, but remember that there’s _always_ a simple explanation to any mysterious occurrence, my dear Watson.”

John nodded, but he was unsure if he was following Sherlock’s line of deduction. About a moment later, Fedorov barged into the sitting room. He glared at Sherlock and John, standing in the middle of the space.

Sherlock rose with his hand out toward the chair in front of them. “Mr. Fedorov, please take a seat.”

Fedorov sneered. “I prefer to stand.”

Before resuming his seat, Sherlock glanced downward at John who only shrugged. “Okay, pray tell us where you—”

“Standish deserved a lot more than a knife to the stomach, if you asked me.” Fedorov interrupted.

Sherlock’s eyes widened. “And how do you know that Standish was stabbed in the stomach?”

Fedorov grinned. “I could see where the blood had pooled from when we found him.”

“Could you tell us where you were then before we found him?” Sherlock asked coolly.

Fedorov huffed. “I was in my room, alone. But I guess that doesn’t matter does it?”

Sherlock and John looked at one another. “Why would that be the case, Mr. Fedorov?” John asked.

“I have quite the reputation.” Was all Fedorov answered with.

“Well, Mr. Fedorov, reputation matters somewhat when one investigates a case, however, _anyone_ with a grudge against Standish had access to kill him…” Sherlock responded, his tone low.

Fedorov nodded. “I think I was the last one to go upstairs after dinner. I saw that stage actress’s maid, Clara—whatever, speaking with Standish…something about the conversation seemed…heated…”

Sherlock leaned backward in his chair with a huge broad smile. “I bet it did, Mr. Fedorov…anything else?”

Fedorov shrugged. “No.” He responded curtly before marching out of the room.

John gawked at Sherlock. “Holmes. Please don’t tell me you don’t think that wasn’t suspicious behavior.

Sherlock laughed as he sprung from his chair. “I do, but it’s only a distraction. We must find the murder weapon.”

He motioned for John to follow him out into the dining room. Mycroft had Stanley throw a blanket over Standish’s body.

Sherlock crouched down near the body, producing a magnifying glass from his pocket.

John sighed as he placed his hands on his hips. “You brought your magnifying glass with you?”

Sherlock looked up at him before grunting. “Of course, I did. And look how handy it turned out to be.”

John sighed once more before Sherlock held up his free hand. “Look, Watson.” He pointed at a few specks of blood leading out of the dining room toward the kitchen.

Sherlock straightened up as he walked toward the trail with John following closely behind. Sherlock opened the door to the kitchen to find the rest of the trail.

“Holmes…the trail stops at the window.” John whispered.

Sherlock nodded as he approached the window in question. The pane was ajar unlike the others that had been shut closed. Both men peered out the window to find a knife outside in the grass.

“And here is our murder weapon.” Sherlock said with delight, patting John on the shoulder, “nice work, ol’ boy.”

The two exited the kitchen through the side door. Sherlock crouched down near the knife, studying it before picking it up.

“The rain must have washed off the blood…” He concluded.

Sherlock then turned the handle over, revealing the following inscription:

> _“To my dearest Viktor. Love Bridget”_

“Oh my,” Sherlock grinned at John, “the game has taken _quite_ the turn, hasn’t it, dear?”

John stared at the knife before acknowledging his companion who by now had the wiliest expression on his face.

“I really wish you wouldn’t refer to murder as if it were a parlor game, Holmes.” John groaned.

Sherlock waved his companion off. “We must question Ms. Coventry and Mr. Fedorov again.” He said before marching back into the kitchen.

They walked through the dining room into the hallway to find Mycroft speaking with Stanley.

“Ah! Dear brother. Have you and your _ever-faithful_ companion solved the case yet?” He said through a sneer, looking mostly at John.

Sherlock shook his head as he attempted to calm John down by rubbing his shoulder. “Not yet, but there’s an unexplained piece to the puzzle that we have stumbled upon. Could you please have Ms. Coventry met us in the sitting room?”

Mycroft nodded as he spun around. “Of course! This is quite the dinner mystery!” He added with glee.

“Seems as if the amusement with murder is a Holmes Family trait.” John scoffed as Sherlock tugged on his arm to follow him.

Soon after, John and Sherlock found themselves again in the sitting room, sitting across from Bridget who looked horrified.

“Mr. Holmes, I don’t know what else I can tell you.” She tried.

Sherlock nodded before holding out the inscribed knife with a handkerchief. “Does this look familiar?”

Bridget gasped dramatically, making it obvious that she did in fact recognize the knife.

“You and Mr. Fedorov are having an affair, aren’t you?” Sherlock added.

Bridget, realizing that she couldn’t wiggle her way out of the question, nodded slowly. “Yes…”

“…your brother, Mr. Holmes, invited us both to this weekend, but when I had discovered that Standish was in attendance, I begged Viktor to act as if we were strangers. You see…” She let out a ragged sigh, “…Viktor had some dealings with Standish that led to some unsavory results…Viktor is innocent, I assure you! But whatever happened between the two of them…well, it ruined Viktor…”

She pointed to the knife. “Viktor enjoys hunting, so I had brought that with me as a present to celebrate our anniversary. I didn’t realize it was taken from my room until you showed it to me just now…”

“…the business with the theatre came after whatever happened between Viktor and Standish. Viktor isn’t aware of all of the details…if he ever found out, I’m sure he would have made a scene, but he is no murderer…”

“Why did you act as if you were strangers?” John asked.

“…I didn’t want Viktor to find out about the theatre closing down so I figure it was probably best to convince him that we didn’t know each other in front of everyone else. Standish would have surely said something if he knew that we were in a relationship…”

Sherlock hummed. “Well, you are quite the actress, Ms. Coventry.”

Bridget’s face brightened as she seemingly disregarded how grave the situation was. “Ah, Mr. Holmes! Thank you.”

Sherlock’s expression managed to remain the same, but John rolled his eyes.

“Ms. Coventry, could you please send in Mr. Fedorov. And your secret is safe with us…” Sherlock motioned for Bridget to exit the room.

Bridget nodded as she left through a theatrical flurry. About a minute or so after, Fedorov appeared looking just as gruff as he had been earlier.

“What do you want, Mr. Holmes?”

Sherlock motioned for Fedorov to take a seat. “Mr. Fedorov, we know that you know Ms. Coventry _very_ well. She told us.”

Fedorov’s mouth fell open as he took a seat; he hung his head low. Sherlock and John waited for him to answer, but before he could say anything, they heard shouting coming from the solarium.

The three men jumped out of their chairs, running to the room as quickly as possible. Upon entering, they found both William and Mamhud shouting at the other. Bridget was in the corner, screeching from the commotion; her maid, Clara, was trying to console her. Mycroft was trying to wedge himself in between the two men whose argument had taken almost a physical turn.

“Now, gentlemen! I admit I am also quite excited by the night’s events, but this is very unnecessary!” Mycroft shouted before William shoved him to the floor. John instinctively ran over to help him.

“I am very dizzy, Doctor…” Mycroft let out, as John helped him to his feet.

“Yes, I’m afraid you bumped your head, Mycroft.” John answered as he dragged him away from the row.

“You’re responsible for the German railway. Admit it!” Mamhud shouted at William.

William shook his head. “Before I stopped working with Standish, he told me that working with that company would be beneficial. I had no idea what he was doing!” William, at this point had shoved Mamhud away from him.

The two men began shoving the other which in turn prompted more hysterics from Bridget. Both Fedorov and Sherlock ran over to the two men, trying to pull them away from the other.

“Gentlemen, please!” Sherlock grabbed William by the collar, but was soon knocked to the ground by a wayward elbow. John ran over to help his companion, nearly dropping Mycroft who was sitting on the floor, still exceedingly dizzy.

As soon as John reached the group of men, he was accidently tripped by Fedorov who had stuck out a foot to get a better stance while holding Mamhud away from William. The force of the trip propelled John across the room to slide next to Sherlock. Sherlock tapped John on the shoulder a few times to ensure that he was okay before they jumped up to pull William and Mamhud apart who at this point in the scuffle, were wrestling with each other on the floor.

“Mr. Holmes! Here is your murderer! Your corrupt deeds have ruined many!” Mamhud shouted as Fedorov grabbed him once more to drag him to an empty corner.

William scoffed as both John and Sherlock held onto him in the opposite corner. “Me? You’re the one who attacked me!”

“I never touched you!” Mamhud shouted back.

Sherlock let go of William as John got a better hold. “Gentlemen! Neither of you is the murderer.”

William stopped struggling as he pointed at Fedorov. “It’s Fedorov, isn’t it. I knew it!”

Sherlock shook his head as he walked to the middle of the room. “No, the murderer is not Mr. Fedorov…” He then turned to face Bridget and Clara.

“Ms. Clara, isn’t it?” Sherlock started quietly, “could you please explain yourself?”

Clara looked hurriedly around the room. “I, uh, I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Holmes.”

Sherlock waited before pulling out a folded scrap of paper from his pocket. “I found this in the sitting room. You dropped it earlier this evening, correct?”

Clara looked horrified. She nodded slowly as she let go of Bridget who looked as perplexed as everyone else in the room.

“…yes…” Clara answered quietly.

Sherlock let out a deep sigh. “You were in the dining room with Standish after the guests retired for the evening, correct?”

Clara nodded her head.

“And this,” Sherlock held up the scrap of paper, “this is a letter to your son, isn’t it?”

Clara nodded once more.

Sherlock handed her the scrap before turning to face everyone else. “Could you all please go to your rooms? Mycroft…” Sherlock looked down at his brother who was still reeling from his bump.

“W-what, w-what…I feel…a bit…under the…weather…”

“…nevermind…” Sherlock said in a huff, “Mr. Fedorov could you please phone the local police?”

Fedorov nodded as he let go of Mamhud.

“Watson, do you mind ensuring Mycroft isn’t too injured?”

John nodded as he let go of William before walking over to Mycroft.

“Dr. Watson!” Mycroft leaned heavily on John as the latter hoisted him to his feet, “have I ever told you that I think you and Sherly make quite the pair? I am so happy that you are part of the family!” He nearly shouted in John’s ear as the latter dragged him out of the solarium.

John glanced over at Sherlock with a weak smile as he carried Mycroft out. “Uh, thank you…Mycroft…”

“Wait, I don’t understand…” Bridget was looking around the room with tears streaming down her face.

Clara nodded as she patted Bridget on the shoulder. “It’s all right, Ms. Coventry. Thank you for being so kind to me…”

Fedorov returned soon after, announcing that the police were on their way. The guests went back to their rooms while Bridget stayed with Clara until the police arrived. Sherlock greeted them at the door.

“Thank you for your quickness. We had an unfortunate accident early this evening…” Sherlock had the police follow him to the dining room where they found Standish.

“…as you can see, someone broke into the house this evening…poor Mr. Standish was a victim…”

One of the police officers stared at Sherlock. “A burglary gone wrong?”

John had joined the party, knowing full well that his companion was covering for Clara.

“Yes, it appears that Standish found them before they could take anything. I think the London papers could say that he was a ‘hero’ of some sort…” Sherlock ended.

The police officer looked at his colleagues, shrugging before ordering them to get an ambulance. As soon as Sherlock and John were left alone in the dining room, John stopped Sherlock with an outstretched hand.

“Why did you cover for Ms. Clara?” He whispered.

Sherlock sighed as he had John follow him into the sitting room where Clara was now by herself.

“…because this whole ordeal was an accident, wasn’t it, Ms. Clara?” Sherlock addressed her immediately upon entry.

Clara looked up at the two men; her face was stern, but she wasn’t upset.

“…Mr. Standish followed me into the dining room after dinner…I told him to leave me alone…”

“You took the knife from Ms. Coventry’s room?” John asked.

Clara nodded. “Yes. I used to work for Mr. Standish’s wife before he fired me…one day, I accidently walked in on him having a meeting with an associate of his…they were discussing something untoward, it sounded like something that had to do with parliament…I went to the authorities soon after…”

John grabbed Sherlock by the arm. “The thwarted terrorist plan?” He gasped.

Clara nodded with a sigh.

“Standish recognized you, although you must have changed your appearance for safety.” Sherlock surmised.

Clara nodded again. “I couldn’t find work for a while….my son and I…we were near destitute before I went to work with Ms. Coventry. She travels mostly, so it was easy to stay away from Standish…my son lives with my parents when I’m away…”

“…I didn’t know that Mr. Standish would be here…I panicked…I took the knife for protection after I wrote the letter to my son. I told him that I loved him no matter what…”

Sherlock settled in a chair opposite of Clara. “Pray tell what happened.”

Clara looked sternly at Sherlock. “After dinner, in this room, Mr. Standish whispered that he knew who I was and that I wouldn’t get away this time. I had expected this, but the threat was too great not to dismiss. After everyone retired, he followed me back into the dining room. He said he knew who I was ‘despite my fancy hair and new clothes…’I told him that he couldn’t hurt me anymore and that I was going to expose his secret…”

“…he lunged towards me, and I pulled out the knife to defend myself…he impaled himself on it…hitting the table, taking the cloth and the stacked dishes with him before knocking over the stand with the bust on it…I froze for a moment before running toward the kitchen…throwing the knife out the window…”

Clara inhaled deeply as she concluded. “Mr. Holmes?” She kept her eyes on Sherlock, “am I…going to prison?”

Sherlock looked at her intently. “I think not, Ms. Clara. What happened sounds like self-defense. Also, it also sounds as if we should hold a parade in your honor for exposing that terrorist plot.” He ended with a kind smile.

A wave of relief flushed over Clara’s face. “…I don’t know what…to say…my goodness…thank you, Mr. Holmes.”

Sherlock nodded as he rose from his chair. The three of them exited the room to find Bridget yelling at Stanley about how horrible the weekend had been thus far. As soon as she saw Clara, she ran toward her with a hug.

“Clara! What is going on?”

Clara hugged her back. “It’s nothing Ms. Coventry. Mr. Holmes was just recording my whereabouts…”

Bridget glared at both Sherlock and John. “Why I never! You already said it was a burglary, Mr. Holmes. Why put Clara through such an ordeal?”

But before Sherlock could get a word in, Bridget waved him off, motioning for Clara to follow her. “We’re leaving this instance. Tell Mycroft that he needs better security!”

Sherlock turned toward John. “Speaking of which, where is my dear brother?”

“Stanley helped me carry him to his room before the police arrived.” John answered.

Sherlock chuckled before ascending the staircase to walk to Mycroft’s room. They slowly opened the door to find Mycroft sitting up in the bed, wide awake.

“Sherly! Did you catch the murderer?” He asked as Stanley approached the bed with some tea.

Sherlock shook his head. “It appears that Mr. Standish was more a victim of a home invasion than murder, dear brother.”

Mycroft scoffed as he waved Stanley away. “Oh, poo. I was really hoping to help you solve the case.”

Both Sherlock and John laughed as Mycroft took a sip from his tea. “Dear Doctor, I hope you managed not to get in the way of the great Sherlock Holmes as you are apt to do.” He sneered, making obvious that the bump to his head had only temporarily let his guard down to confess his true feelings toward John.

John groaned loudly as Sherlock only shrugged. “He’s better than you think, Mycroft.” Sherlock answered.

John rolled his eyes as he spun around to exit the room. “Just what I needed…this damn blasted ‘vacation’…”


End file.
